The LeaveTaking
by Xehra
Summary: Haldir must choose...


Title: The Leave-Taking  
Author: Xehra - xehra1@hotmail.com  
Rating: G  
Setting: Lórien, post-War of the Ring  
Summary: Haldir must choose  
Spoilers: For the books. Duh.  
Archive: FF.net and The Wood's Library. Should you by some strange chance want it, please drop me a line first to let me know.  
Disclaimer: I don't own Middle-earth. Papa Tolkien does, and always will.  
Feedback: Craved. To the above address.  
Author's note: I don't know whether Haldir stayed or not - there's nothing in canon. This is my own view.  
Thanks: To Bridget, all a writer could ask for in a beta :)  
  
~~~  
It was on the road home from Dol Guldur that I first felt it. It was an actual physical pain; a heartache that nothing could assuage save to walk again under the eaves of my beloved wood. As we rode the distance between the southern Greenwood and the eastern borders of Lothlórien, I realized that it was what Men call homesickness, a longing for one's natural place in the world.  
  
I had been away from the Golden Wood before, going abroad on short journeys in the service of my Lord and learning the tongues of the other races. This, however, was different. This was a homecoming after weeks of absence, and, I realized, tinged bittersweet by the knowledge that our time here was ended.  
  
The War of the Ring had been fought and won. Many had died in Gondor, but even in Lórien we had been thrice assailed by the forces of Mordor. We had held, though at great cost. Keen was the grief in Caras Galadhon, when the dead were brought there and arrayed for their final journey. Songs of mourning, not victory, echoed under the boughs of the mighty mallorns for many moons.  
  
Then we had ridden out, eastwards towards our Silvan kin in the reaches of Mirkwood. There, my Lady revealed her true power: a sight such as I had never seen in all my long years in this Middle-earth. The Enemy's stronghold was thrown down and its pits laid bare; destruction was wrought by the hand that wielded Narnya. I watched, unbelieving, as Galadriel, fairest of us all, stretched out her arm, the sleeves of her long white dress falling in waves towards the grass. The walls came down, and the last evil was driven out.  
  
Celeborn, who had lead our party over the Anduin to victory over those of Sauron's servants who still lurked there, had watched silently. He sat astride his white charger, face passive, as his wife and love summoned all her power. A power so terrible that it had threatened to destroy her over the centuries she had wielded her one of the Three.  
  
Mirkwood had been renamed, a new name for the New Year.  
  
Neither Lord nor Lady had spoken during the journey home, as if some agreement existed between them not to articulate the maelstrom of emotions within them. All of us with them knew that the time for choices was fast approaching, and that Galadriel would doubtless take ship to Valinor when the Ring-bearer did.  
  
But who would go with her?  
  
I returned to myself as we passed through the borders of the wood, which I had guarded for years uncounted but now looked upon as one who wakens from a dream. At first glance, Lórien seemed as it always had been; golden and beautiful, a haven for our people. But now, something was different...  
  
The joy was gone. That strange, indescribable feeling that uplifted the heart when one walked under the boughs of the Golden Wood had departed, leaving an empty space in my soul. Lothlórien knew its Lady was leaving.  
  
And what of myself? I had avoided the decision from the moment I knew it had to be made, and not allowed myself to debate my loyalties. I had delayed my choice, but now, as we neared Caras Galadhon again, I knew I had to examine my heart.  
  
Could I ever leave my beloved wood? And yet, Valinor...  
  
I spent many moons walking the forgotten paths, lost in waking dreams of years past. When I had touched the bough of every mallorn and felt each blade of grass beneath my feet, I sought an audience with my Lord and Lady. Celeborn only nodded, shoulders bowed with the burden of his own decision. Galadriel, however, smiled slightly, as if she had known all along what her Marchwarden would decide.  
  
Thus it was I stood at the edge of the wood and watched as the Lady of the Golden Wood left her domain, the heart of Elvendom on Middle-earth. Its light had gone out, but the beauty of Lothlórien lingered still. As did I.  
  
END 


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